Are You Retarded?
This is without a doubt my favorite moment from sports last year. On April 4  on some NFL  talk show, Michael Irvin, who is, shall we say prototypical  of the quasi-humanoid sportscaster species, specifically the football variety. Anyway, he was answering someone else's  idiotic question regarding the Payton brothers playing against each other when his co-host, Tom Jackson, looked at him, paused and asked the question most Americans have long wondered:  "Are you retarded?".
Oh bliss! How few and far between for these sweet morsels of unvarnished excellence!

Especially because the whole show itself, with its  over-amped production style, is itself a towering testament to terminal retardation, rendering the question self-answering.  It could only have been better if Jackson said, "Aren't we all so retarded?"

Gone Fishing...................................................................................




Held up in the Seventeenth Dimension
 Time has become a commodity so precious that one could actually speculate that it doesn't even exist anymore. Recently, time  galloped forward at an incredible velocity, it moved at an exponential rate of speed, and even began to approach the speed of light, and I was flung into the seventeenth dimension- a place where your head is shaped like a candle stick, and there is no language, just different shades of colored light.
Anyway, I'm back now.
Just got a few errands to run. Then we can start this thing up again.

April 3, 12:05 am

Albert Belle is About to Get Screwed...........
Stay tuned.

Jan. 9, 11:41 pm


Last Year at The Sportsologist 

It was kind of funny actually. I was typing away in a fevered rush on New Years Eve, determined to post a blog item before the minutes slipped irrevocably into next year. I was feeling some self-inflicted pressure due to the fact that the blog portion of my site saw a lot less action throughout the year than I would've liked. Unfortunately, this meant that I was also largely unfamiliar with the content manager functions that allow me to post writing onto my site. 
    So there was a lot of screwed-up entries and frustrated re-typing which I eventually assembled (at 11:30 PM) into a molten lump of prose highlighting some of my favorite stories from last year. I hit what I assumed was the "save" icon on my menu, and checked back with my site, as I awaited the first, and only, substantive blog entry of the entire year.
What the f? I guess it's possible I clicked on the little trash can instead. Who knows? I lost the text. And now it's 12:15. Doh!
Not to fear. Surely I can do it again.......

The  Best Stories of Last Year

1.  We saw the fleeting return of my favorite sports figure to the news again, when Tonya Harding flexed her muscles against yet another hapless boyfriend. From abcnews.go on October 25th:
"Christopher Nolan was charged with assault and pleaded not guilty Monday. He told deputies Harding threw him down and bit his finger when he said she had too much to drink on Sunday. The 27-year-old Nolan was ordered to stay away from Harding and to avoid alcohol."

-Note that after Tonya bit his finger in a drunken rage, it was Nolan who was counseled to stay off the booze! Or perhaps she wasn't drunk, it was only his outrageous allegation that she had too much of the drink that prompted Tonya to take a chomp. Either way, it's clear Nolan was no match for the Portland powerhouse.
    Of course, the world is no match for this brooding, cast-out Valkyrie, left to wander the earth in search of a purpose that befits a once-proud athlete. Bless her screwed-up soul, Tonya never really apologized quite the way she was supposed to, and was left to defend and define herself by the world's moral outrage. She went from an assault on Nancy Kerrigan, to beating on another ex-boyfriend with a hubcap, to becoming a professional boxer. I think this shows that Tonya possesses, at the very least, a fully developed sense of irony.

2.  On January 28th, rescue teams found Richard Kral drunk and staggering along a mountain path four days after his Audi car was buried in the Slovak Tatra mountains. Kral's car was buried under almost ten feet of snow. He opened his window and started digging out, but before long his hands were frozen.
  He had 60 half-litre bottles of beer in his car as he was going on holiday, and after cracking one open to think about the problem he realised he could urinate on the snow to melt it.  Said Kral:
    "I was scooping the snow from above me and packing it down below the window, and then I peed on it to melt it. It was hard and now my kidneys and liver hurt."