ANDY PETTITTE went before Congress to tell his story of having HGH pumped into his booty. If sports were ever ghey, and they certainly are ghey, this was the gheyest revelation. Gheyer than that ghey dude that used to play football writing a book with that ghey dude that used to play basketball. Gheyer than even SHERYL SWOOPES, and no one can deny how ghey that is.
I’m just upset that talk radio and sportswriting faggotry hasn’t been sicked on ROGER CLEMENS the way they jumped all over BARRY BONDS. Oddly enough everyone has been mum up to this point. I’m optimistic that when the season begins maybe there will be some outcry, but at the end of the day being mad at CLEMENS and PETTITTE and whoever used steroids doesn’t change how people reacted to BONDS.
It shouldn’t change anything about the game either. Professional sports exists as our modern day circuses to offer us a diversion from the fact we are plunged headfirst into a downward spiraling economy while we are perpetuating military conflicts over the Earth’s natural resources. I just finished watching a Super Bowl that had as many advertisements for drugs as it did for different types of cars and beers. Let’s be honest and say that the rush you get from prescription medication is a whole lot cheaper than buying that Acura RL.
This is the same rush that baseball players get when striking someone out with a 90mph fastball or hitting a 500ft. home run. Blaming baseball players for getting their high seems cheap to me, and mostly cowardly. America is addicted to drugs period. That is the white elephant in the room that no one wants to acknowledge. Instead, we just keep watching the tell lie vision. Woo hoo, the Giants won the Super Bowl! I wonder how many NFL players use designer synthetic steroids?
Editor’s note: The Ambassador goes in on why she watches football in the first place. Guess what, it ain’t the tight pants.
I’m not about to act like I know much about football, because I don’t (Vernand Morency is proof of this), but I at least thought I knew who was going to win the Super Bowl. Well, once again, I was wrong. But I know I’m not the only one who is feeling like an idiot right now! I can’t recall speaking to anybody that thought that the Patriots would lose. Then again, I do go to George Mason – maybe the people I was speaking to took me out of context and thought I was talking about the infamous GMU Patriots who actually did win their last game. And, of course, they also had a recent win against VCU. Mason vs. VCU is pretty much the Super Bowl of the Colonial Athletic Association when it comes to basketball, so…well, let me stop bragging about my school. We’ll save that kind of talk for March Madness time.
Anyway, here we stand. Another Super Bowl Sunday behind us. And truthfully, I’m kind of glad. While Charles Grant was busy getting stabbed in the neck while he was out at a club, the Giants and Patriots players were warming up and practicing the most idiotic of dances to perform when the touchdowns would be scored, the pork patrol was loading up on donuts to provide sustenance for the long night of pulling over drunk drivers, fatasses across the country (in true American fashion) were making sure that they had a sufficient supply of buffalo wings and beer, and I found myself bored out of my mind. You would think that spending three years of my life on the sidelines of football games with a fake smile on my face while wearing a little skirt that barely covered my ass might make me enjoy football more. But alas, I still don’t even understand the game. Hell, I remember doing first and 10 cheers on the sidelines and not even knowing what a first and 10 meant. Not a good look. Actually…I take that back. The skirts trump the lack of knowledge. It was still a good look. Ah, high school. The good old days.
Speaking of the good old days, I realized that the only part of football that truly entertains me is the art of the tackle. So, I decided to utilize the great power of distraction known as YouTube to take a trip into the wonderful tackles of football games past. Take a look at what I found… and don’t worry, if you’re at work – just turn the sound off. They’re just as great in silence.
Joe Paterno took one hell of a hit in that video. This would also be the only tackle in this small bunch that I actually saw on TV when it happened. That was some crazy shit. Take into account how old he was when this happened and it’s even more amazing. I don’t think I’d even bother standing up after that one – I’d just coach the rest of the game from the ground. Joe Paterno is hardbody, sonn.
I have no idea who this is, but fast forward to the one minute mark for the slow motion replay. There is only one word to describe this clip: ouch.
This looks like the game wasn’t that big of a deal, but I’m sure the guy getting tackled in this one isn’t going to forget it. Word to Lil’ Jon, they were knockin’ some heads off in this one. Well, maybe not heads. More like helmets. Peep how far away it landed from the guy’s body!
Here we have someone named Ray Small getting laid out. But that’s not the best part of this video – check out the guy who tackled him after he made the hit. He looks so happy and full of joy. I think for a second his run actually turned into a skip. A trot perhaps. Ah, yes, the amazingly blissful feeling of fucking somebody the fuck up. Nothing like it. What a rush.
I had to throw this one in to defend cheerleading. Well, maybe this isn’t defending it, but it shows that we cheerleaders can take hits too. To my knowledge, this girl ended up with a concussion and ripped her ear off or something Mike Tyson-esque like that. This has to be the best cheerleading fuckup video on YouTube. Watch as her stunt partner pokes at her like road
kill while she’s out cold, and take notice of how the person recording it all doesn’t make a move to get up and help. Classic.
Rocko Rocorski says…
“Helmets?!? DP Dot Com don’t need no stinkin’ helmets!”
I hate it when I go through the trouble of bathing and coming up from my mother’s basement to go into Manhattan to hang at a club and I don’t get in. It makes me reconsider what the fuck I’m doing with my life at that moment. First of all, why did I even leave my house? My mom’s basement is warm and comfortable, plus the DSL connection lets me download my illegal music and pr0n at a lightning fast speed.
Why would I want to be in a club anyhoo? Rubbed up against girls that are young enough to be my daughter, let alone my side order. Furthermore, these broads are broke. Who needs this shit called going to the club. The real party is popping off in front of the club. That is where you find the people that are being let in to the party and those of us who don’t have that level of access. I’m here to tell you that the sidewalk in front of the club is the jumpoff.
In New York City the nightclubs rarely have parking lots accessible to the club entrances because almost none of the really cool kids in NYC own cars. Seriously, try paying a car note and insurance along with $1500 monthly rent. So instead of parking lot pimping, we here in NYC like to call it sidewalk pimping. And who do you think holds down the pavement in front of NYC’s hotspots better than the iNTERNETS CELEBRITIES? No one should be the answer you check off.
Chea!
Sidewalk Pimping was shot and edited by Terrence Elenteny
Look out for an upcoming i.C. episode where we go in on the best chicken wings evar. Will it be KFC, or Popeye’s, or the halal spot that also makes pizza, or is it the bulletproof Chinese restaurant?
Who do you think makes the G.O.A.T. fried chicken wings. I’m talking about that fried chicken that makes fools get to fighting?
